


A Collection of Fic-Let Suggestions (Please read the summary for info!)

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Everyone Is Gay, Fanfiction, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Headcanon, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Multiple Pairings, Romantic Fluff, The Author Regrets Nothing, To Be Edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 00:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14225574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: So I took some requests for TF2 shipping Fic-lets and I’m going to be compiling them five-per-chapter. :)Time may vary between chapters, this was merely only the first set I've done. I'm still quite new with the request taking thing. To make things a little easier, I will have a limit set for five requests per chapter.A new chapter will be added when I'm ready to take more requests!I hope they turn out alright to those who suggested!





	A Collection of Fic-Let Suggestions (Please read the summary for info!)

  * Soldier/Spy



Snowed In

_Good god, it’s cold._  
The snow had come so suddenly. The team had scattered and hunted for places sheltered from the blistering cold wind and snow.  
The Spy found the work-shed suitable.

If it wasn’t already terrible, a few hours into the blizzard weather, the power suddenly went out.

The Spy tucked his hands under his arms, quietly suffering the freezing temperature out.

He was smoking anxiously, trying to keep his head in this situation.

The silence and solitude would have been nice if he had been alone.  
But no, he was never so lucky.

He tried not to regard Doe’s presence. If he could.  
If he did, he’d be subjected to battle stories—dubious in their truthfulness—told by the old war dog.  
_A fate worse than death._  
The Spy shuddered to imagine what Doe’s fevered imagination was cooking up under that helmet.

About twenty minutes stuck in that snow-blocked shack, the Spy noticed that Doe had been slowly creeping over to his side of the room.  
The Spy gave Doe a furious scowl.  
_Stay on your side, you imbecile._  
Doe didn’t heed the Spy’s look—as venomous as the Spy had tried to make it.

But the Spy only found himself wrapped up in Doe’s jacket with the man.

He grimaced, half annoyed by Doe’s odd display of hospitality.  
The other half of his mind felt something strange that the Spy couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge.

“You know,” Doe started, “This reminds me of a story.”  
_Oh god_ , the Spy groaned, _someone shoot me now._  
But he permitted the man’s proximity, if only for warmth—however, he subconsciously leaned closer to the man’s thrumming heartbeat, and warm chest, and soft breaths going across his cheek.  
He sighed, perhaps the man’s crazy old stories could be tolerated, so long as they could both stay close.

 

  * Soldier/Sniper



Not So Prickly

Every morning off, it was difficult to get Mick to coherently interact with other human beings before his morning coffee. He was an absolute hellion if prematurely jostled.

But Jane wasn’t the kind of person who forced socialisation on Mick.  
In the morning, it usually compromised of loving holding, lying in Mick’s tiny bed while Jane—for once—wasn’t shrieking at his peers.

Jane would put the coffee on while Mick remained curled up in bed.  
_Quiet.  
Blessed quiet._

Jane would then bring two tall mugs of coffee and set them on the bedside table.  
Where they’d stay and grow cold while the two of them remained together until Mick would finally decide it was time to get up and attempt to sit up.

To which the Soldier would draw closer, and hold Mick in steel trap-like arms. “No, sir.” He would say blearily, having grown comfortable.

His face would be buried in the back of Mick’s neck in a gentle silence only broken by the birds outside Mick’s camper.

Mick didn’t mind, though, “All right, luv.” He would smile tranquilly, and turn his head to look at Jane from the corner of his eye—who would be in a tank top and tacky patterned boxers that Mick himself wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.  
And Jane would plant one on Mick’s temple.  
And the coffee would continue to be untouched. Continue to grow cold.

_I love ya, you big lug._

 

  * Medic/Spy



Broken Seams

An unfortunate incident with an enemy backstabber had led the Spy to asking Ludwig to help fix the arm of his suit jacket.

Ludwig cheerfully hummed while using medical thread to fix the rip.

The Spy sat quietly, watching the time. Then paused to start looking at Ludwig’s rather impressive needlework with a touch of admiration.  
“What’s on your mind, _mein freund_?” Ludwig said, barely sparing the Spy a glance.  
“I’m wondering when you’ll be done.” The Spy quickly returned his attention to his watch.  
“It takes time.” Ludwig said.  
“Yes, yes, of course it does.”  
Ludwig chuckled, “At least I didn’t get blood on your suit, this time.”  
“That’s something at least.” The Spy said.  
Ludwig looked at him halfway, with a small glimmer of amusement playing in his eye behind his glasses.  
The Spy felt something gnaw at his chest, and a kind of nausea accompanied by a teasing... _flutter_ in his stomach.

The Spy cleared his throat—he hid his slight episode rather well if he said so himself.  
“Feeling ill?” Ludwig was only making fun, but the Spy took it to heart.  
“ _No._ ” He said defensively as he rubbed his arm, where Ludwig had previously bandaged before fixing his jacket. His hands were as gentle as one would expect.

Ludwig smiled knowingly.

The doctor finished up and dusted the newly repaired suit jacket’s arm off and draped it over the Spy’s shoulders. “Is this any better?” He asked.  
The Spy nodded after a brief inspection. “Much better, thank you, my friend.”  
“Just let me know if you require anything else of me, Spy.”  
The Spy ran his thumb over the “scar” of the jacket thoughtfully. “I will.”

 

  * Sniper/Medic



Playing With Life

Mick had mixed feelings about helping Ludwig with his off-colour experiments.

The man was manic about his interests, while Mick was far less so.  
“You _sure_ this thing ain’t gonna kill us?” Mick said, crossing his arms.  
“I mean, it _shouldn’t_.” Ludwig shrugged, “But I suppose it _could_.” He snapped a pair of goggles on and gestured Mick to do the same.  
Mick frowned. “Come on, don’t say that.” He pulled his safety goggles on, too.

Ludwig laughed, somewhere between maniac and good-natured chuckle. He regained composure.

Mick gulped, Ludwig aimed a big hulking machine at a cadaver’s heart. The organ was _willingly donated_ , Ludwig had said. But Mick was doubtful of this story.

He looked at Mick, “Press that button, please? The big red one.”  
Mick nodded, “Right.” He inched forward and hit the button.

The machine buzzed, and crackled, and whirred to life and some kind of ribbon of glowing smoke gently wafted forth at the body part. Mick made a big step back away from the table.

Ludwig rubbed his chin, holding his breath, and watching the once-lifeless heart cling to life. Like some kinda Frankenstein’s monster’s... _disembodied organ._  
Mick felt the odd urge to scream _it’s alive._  
“ _Yes!_ ” Ludwig cheered.  
Mick looked at him. “Y’alright, doc?” He said.  
Ludwig nodded, “Why? Do I not look alright? This is a _breakthrough_!”  
Mick’s heart was slightly warmed by the doc’s happiness.

As odd as the subject of which he was happy about was.

Mick smiled lopsidedly. “Good job, mate.”

Suddenly, the cadaver heart _exploded_.

Mick shrieked bloody murder and he hopped backward, hands raised. “ _What the bloody hell, doc?_ ” He looked at Ludwig, ready to berate him.

But Ludwig was laughing—and not even manically!  
The doctor scooped Mick up in a hug suddenly.  
Mick sighed, he chuckled, he supposed he could forgive the doc for the heart attack. _This time._

 

  * Medic/Heavy



Still Hurting?

The two wounds remained with Ludwig. Two bullet wounds caused by a now-dead brute of a man.

“Do they still hurt?” Mikhail asked, as Ludwig sat cleaning them off with the hydrogen peroxide—well, what he had left of it after the recent events.

Ludwig managed a soft nod. “Not so much anymore, Mikhail.” But they sure were bothering him.

Mikhail frowned. He remained feeling that he had unfinished business with the one who had killed his doctor—albeit only temporarily, but _still_.

Mikhail leaned against Ludwig, he was careful to not knock Ludwig ass over teakettle with his weight. “I’m sorry.” Mikhail mumbled.

Ludwig paused to glance at Mikhail, who appeared distressed himself—however emotionally. “What are you sorry for? It isn’t your fault.” Ludwig touched his shoulder gently. “You did well, Mikhail.”  
“Not well enough,” Mikhail growled gutturally. “I could not protect you.” He looked to his doctor’s half-bandaged abdominal region. “This was all my fault.”

Slightly fed up, Ludwig placed two hands on his partner’s face and forced his eyes on himself, solely. Ludwig brought on the sharpest, most commanding voice he could.  
“Are you not listening? It was _not_ your fault, you had no control over it, Misha.”

Mikhail blinked at the use of his nickname. Ludwig could have sworn he saw a flicker of a tear in his eye. “ _Misha?_ ” Mikhail parroted softly.  
“Ah, so you _are_ listening.” Ludwig smiled warmly, he pulled Mikhail close, forcing the huge man to lean so he could kiss his forehead affectionately. “You’re a good, strong man, Misha. That won’t change.”


End file.
